Long parting from the hearts we love. Will shadow o'er the brightest face; And happy they who part, and prove Affection changes not with place.
A sad farewell is warmly dear, But something dearer may be found To dwell on lips that are sincere; And lurk in bosoms closely bound.
The pressing hand, the steadfast sigh, Are both less earnest than the boon Which, fervently, the last fond sigh Begs in the hopeful words "Write soon!"
"Write soon!" oh, sweet request of Truth! How tenderly its accents come! We heard it first in early youth, When mothers watch'd us leaving home.
And still amid the trumpet-joys, That weary us with pomp and show, We turn from all the brassy noise To hear this minor cadence flow.
We part, but carry on our way Some loved one's plaintive spirit-tune; That, as we wander, seems to say, "Affection lives on faith,—Write soon!"
